


Always a Price to Pay

by Clockwork



Series: Training the Pet [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blackmail, Coercion, Drug Use, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-04
Updated: 2010-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork/pseuds/Clockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim returns to see if Sherlock is ready to pay for his next fix. Drug use and coercion/blackmail are running themes in this series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always a Price to Pay

In truth Jim only left his guest alone for forty minutes. The dose had been large, bordering on a deadly dose, but that was part of the fun. As he unlocked the door, he knew he would find one of two things. Either a very content, lost in his own desires Holmes who would have little clue about the world going on around him. Or there would be a corpse. He truly did hope that he hadn't misjudged the abilities of Sherlock's body to process after everything the man himself had put it through.

The drug had left him well and truly addled but as Moriarty watched from the door, Holmes' chest rose and fell - albeit with a bit of a rattle - with the breaths he took. So far things were going swimmingly.

Straight razor in hand, he smiled indulgently while retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket. Carefully he wiped a bit of drool from the corner of Holmes' mouth.

"There now. Much better, pet," he cooed, fingers brushing over curls that sprung tightly at his touch, the heat of the room and sweat causing them coil tightly. "You seem a bit uncomfortable there," he continued, tossing the bit of fabric into the corner before neatly using the razor to slit the tape that bound Holmes at wrists and ankles. "Do be good," he said, pocketing the tool before gathering Sherlock into his arms.

Carrying him to the cot that was pushed against the wall, Jim was careful as he laid Sherlock down, straightening out lean limbs and ensuring that he was as comfortable as he could be. A blanket was produced from beneath the bed, shaking it out before tucking the brilliant, once brilliant, consulting detective in as if he were a sick child, too ill to help themselves.

"You do seem to be enjoying this," he continued as if the other man might answer, unable to resist another touch to those soft, beautiful curls. "Rest a bit longer and I'll see to you soon."

Yet before he left, he used a bit of chain and a handful of zip ties and secured one of Sherlock's arms and one leg to a chain in the wall that hung above the bed. He might move, toss a bit in his drug induced stupor, but he wouldn't be going anywhere, no matter how bad the desire became.

Every hour, nearly on the hour though for his own sake of mind Jim made sure it wasn't that regular - wouldn't do to find himself looking forward to this visits more than Holmes might - he came to the room for another visit. Some merely to see that his guest was well and still had a beating heart. Others so that he might slid a fresh needle into the vein, adding a bit more drug to a body already looking for the next dose. Each time he pushed to make Holmes wait a bit longer.

The first time he was there and ready before Holmes might actually crave more. The second he waited until that smooth brow showed beads of sweat and the soft sounds he made turned to needy whimpers that were like the sweetest of chocolates to Jim. By day two, he was enjoying himself more than he rightfully should for being no more than the caretaker and distribution system. After the second dose, he waited nearly half a day before he returned, leaving Holmes to his own devices long enough that should his stomach finally turn from the acid and drugs, he might well have asphyxiated on his own vomit. Jim was rather thankful to find he hadn't.

He was also delighted to find his guest awake. Mostly.

"Mori..." Cracked lips tried to form the word, wincing as Sherlock turned his face towards the wall. Already Jim could see the changes. Dark circles about his eyes. Skin shallow and pale, though a good meal might help that. He doubted Holmes was up for food though, or even curious for anything but what Jim held in his hand. Still he pulled a chair closer, sitting down at bedside as if to care for his patient.

"How are we today? Feeling a bit peckish?" Withdrawing a fresh handkerchief from an inner pocket, he made to swab the sweat from his pet's brow. He laughed when Sherlock jerked away, pressing closer to the cinderblock wall. "Nownow, do behave. I would hate to have to take my treat and go." Waving the needle about, he waited until those once brilliant blue eyes rolled his way, focused on nothing but the glass tube and steel point. "You do remember how this works, don't you? The first hit is free but then it starts to cost you? By my calculations, you've had..." He paused as if he actually had to consider the answer, eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he twirled the full needle between his fingers. "Two doses without having to pay. This one will cost you."

With a groan, Holmes shifted to look more fully at Moriarty. Despite the drugs, the lack of food or facilities, that single look held more than enough contempt to make the answer perfectly clear. Jim chose to misinterpret it.

"Oh your money is no good here, Sherlock. Money I can come by anywhere. What I want from you is a bit more... pedestrian, I admit, though I do have to wonder how many outside of myself have truly experienced it." Removing the cap from the needle, he ran the tip lightly up and down his pet's arm. Holmes jerked, involuntary and desperate. Laughing, Jim pulled away the needle. "Not yet, pet. You have to pay for your treats. Now, where was I? Oh yes. Whom. Shall I assume Mycroft? Despite your bickering and fights, I suspect there were not many who endured your moods lightly in school, despite those overly full lips and nimble fingers. Then there's whom? Doctor Watson? He does have that rather charming little friend but I doubt she would be eager for the sort of dark and rough games that I've heard soldiers are given to. Mycroft, I suspect, would have had you on your knees before you were much more than a man, though I suspect the good doctor is the obediently attentive one in your relationship. Is he able to spend much time on his knees with that injury and all?"

As he spoke of the sex life that Holmes must have with the men in his life, Jim used the needle to accentuate his point. Running the tip over Sherlock's lower lip, barely pricking the tip of one fingers, finally letting it come to rest against the crotch of Holmes' slacks. They were damp. "Oh dear. You've wet yourself," he noted, leaning down to look into his pet's eyes. "Or have you become so excited thinking about your lovers that you couldn't restrain yourself? Excited, are we?"

The needle just barely pricked the skin at the crook of Sherlock's arm. He watched his eyes widen, lips moving with words he never spoke. His arm moved, pressing up against the needle until the tip punctured skin. Both men groaned in unison.

"Good. I see you're ready." Keeping the needle still, Jim rose to stand over Holmes, his hand on the button of his silk trousers. "Now, pay your price and I'll give your a treat, pet."

Their eyes met as Jim undid the button, drawing down the zipper slowly to reveal the black silk boxers beneath. The fabric was tented, a small damp spot revealing how excited his own games left him.

Sherlock rolled away to face the wall, jerking his arm away so that the needle tore his skin.

"I see." Anger rolled through those two words and a moment later the needle clattered to the floor. Grinding it under heel until the drug was infused with glass dust, Moriarty jerked himself back together, turning on heel with the sound of grinding glass. "I'll be back when you're more willing to pay, Sherlock. Do try and not soil yourself again."

He slammed the door in his frustrated wake.


End file.
